


Beyond the Sea

by piphes



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Mutual Pining, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:26:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23745280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piphes/pseuds/piphes
Summary: somewhere beyond the seasomewhere waiting for memy lover stands on golden sandsand watches the ships go sailing
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 110





	Beyond the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> i put the song on a loop for five hours to write this hehe  
> hope you enjoy!

_ "You belong here,” says Honeymaren, eyes full of earnest intent. _

Sure, maybe. But no matter how much Elsa might want it, however much her mother’s song still haunts her dreams, she cannot  _ be _ there. Not yet and not now, not while there are a thousand matters that Her Majesty of Arendelle must attend to.

First and foremost is disaster relief. Although that kingdom-ending wave did not actually end her kingdom, the damage done by the spirits is significant. Most of the streets are a cobblestoned wreck, several buildings have been burned or flooded (it was only lamps and rivers that died, apparently), and anything light that wasn’t tethered down has been blown off to god-knows-where. She spends an entire week in a flurry of action (literal flurries, since she's using her powers to lift up fallen trees and such). Council meetings, town meetings, public speeches, and plans of action consume her every waking minute, even as the minutes she  _ isn’t _ awake dwindle to almost nothing. 

And then, just when Elsa thinks that she might collapse, she finds out that the entire territory contained in the Mist has been removed from every map created in the past thirty-five years, including the ones sent to foreign nations. The Northuldran land is a political rabbit in a hat, and she's got to be the magician. (Incidentally  _ not _ her preferred kind of magic.)

“Elsa, are you sure?” Anna’s face is lined with worry, and Kristoff mirrors the expression behind her. “I can go instead, or at least accompany you! You look exhausted.”

“Nokk won't let you ride him,” she brushes her off, “and I can get to the Forest ten times faster than anyone else.” Her sister crosses her arms, clearly unconvinced. “I’ll be fine, Anna, you’re worrying too much. I’ll send you a note when I get there,” Elsa waves, and leaves before Anna can try to stop her again.

And the spray of water on her skin and the breeze rifling through her hair do more to refresh her than a hundred cups of coffee. She feels as light as air, like she isn’t riding but flying, and for a moment she allows herself to revel in it all, in this strange, deep-rooted sense that she’s coming home.  _ You belong here _ , the siren calls, and with freedom searing her veins she's inclined to believe it.

The shore of the Forest expands into view in no time at all, and if she’s totally honest, she's actually a little disappointed to dismount and return to being Queen Elsa of Arendelle. As much as she wants to go to Ahtohallan again, or even just spend a night under the open sky, it’s not what she’s here for. This is business alone—there will be time enough to find her place in the world. 

A tiny figure at the edge of the water awaits her arrival. She makes out dark hair, a light tunic on a sturdy frame— _ Honeymaren _ , she thinks with certainty, long before she's near enough to be able to tell _. _ But she's right; the closer she gets, the more details become visible. A hand raised in greeting. A toned arm shouldering a pack. 

And then the sun reappears from behind a cloud and she’s unexpectedly, absolutely dazzled. She’s close enough to see Honeymaren’s warm eyes, her mesmerizing smile. It leaves her breathless.

Wait, no. That’s not the only reason she’s breathless.

Honeymaren’s smile fades along with the rest of the world, straight to black.

...

Elsa awakens to the crackle of a fire and a voice humming absentmindedly. She tries to sit up and gauge her surroundings, and can’t help the groan that’s dragged out of her as her head throbs with a vengeance.

“You’re awake,” the voice observes, somehow managing to sound both pleased and remonstrative.

“Honeymaren,” she says, and the owner of the voice comes into her field of view, from where she’s lying on what seems to be a bed of furs underneath a canopy of trees.

“It’s good to see you again, your Majesty,” Honeymaren says quietly. She holds out her hands, and when Elsa takes them quizzically, maneuvers her gently into a sitting position against a tree trunk. “Though I might’ve asked for better circumstances.” She lets go, leaving Elsa’s palms tingling, and moves back toward the fire.

She laughs, and then grimaces as her head pulses again. “It’s just Elsa,” she grits out. Which, upon reflection, is not strictly proper and probably not the right move, but it’s too late to take it back now. “How long have I been sleeping for?”

Instead of answering, Honeymaren turns around from the fire with a steaming cup of...something. “Here,” she says, offering it to Elsa, “and it’s just Maren.” The drink tastes like mint and honey, and Elsa thanks her, feeling her headache ebb away with every sip. But as the pain fades, her dread grows, and she pins Maren with her gaze until the other woman sighs. “You’ve been unconscious for five hours,” she admits.

“Five hours?!” Elsa practically shrieks.  _ I was supposed to be back in Arendelle an hour ago!  _ She scrambles to her feet and summons a tiny whirlwind of ice to redo her braid. “I’m so sorry,” she blurts, looking for some direction to the Northuldra camp. “I can’t believe I slept this long-”

“Elsa,” Maren says calmly, cutting through her panic, “I let you sleep on purpose.” When Elsa turns around to fix her with a betrayed look, she crosses her arms, unfazed. “When I brought the healer here, she said it was a miracle you even made it here. You were beyond exhausted. You could have fallen off and  _ drowned. _ ” Despite her concerned tone, Elsa bristles at the officiousness of her actions. Maren must see it in her face, because her expression goes hard as stone, unyielding. “The Northuldra, we take care of our own,” she says firmly.

_ Our own _ . All at once, the fight goes out of her. “You’re right,” she murmurs, and she can see Maren’s eyes widen in surprise. “I just want to fix all the damage that my family has done. The Northuldra have suffered long enough, and it's hard to take a break when I know that there's more for me to do. Thank you, Maren.” The other woman nods, expression softening at the tremor in her voice, and holds out her hand again. This time, Elsa doesn’t hesitate before taking it.

“I told Yelena that you were delayed, and sent word to your sister that you would be late, since you were staying to eat,” Maren tells her, letting go of her hand. “It is nearly time, so you can talk with Yelena and I over dinner.”

“You as well?” Elsa asks hesitantly, trying to avoid being rude. To her knowledge, Yelena is the leader of the tribe and head of its council, and the sole official Northuldran ambassador.

“I will be her successor in a few years’ time,” Maren smiles, thankfully not seeming offended. 

“Ah,” Elsa breathes. Then, before she can think about it, “I should have called  _ you _ ‘your Majesty.’”

This time Maren laughs, and Elsa is breathless once again. “No,” she says, eyes twinkling. “Just Maren, to my friends.”

...

Maren trudges back to camp with a single-minded focus on her bed. It’s quite warm, for how recently winter had given way to spring, but the reindeer birth had been _ messy _ and the only nearby place to wash herself was a  _ freezing cold river _ -

“Maren,” Yelena calls, just as she’s nearing the gateway to her personal restful heaven. Maren bites back a groan, and turns to face her.

“Yes?” she says, maybe too shortly.

Yelena frowns. “You seem tired,” she observes simply. At Maren’s nod, she pulls out a note with a familiar seal, and her smirk says all too clearly that she’s aware of the way that Maren perks up involuntarily. “Hopefully not too tired for this. Queen Elsa asked to stay the night, so that she could escort us to Arendelle tomorrow. I can offer her a space in my tent, or-”

“No!” Maren cuts in. “I would be glad to host her.”

“Good,” Yelena smiles. “I'm glad that you have been able to become so close with her.” Maren smiles back and goes to leave—to prepare dinner, to set up a bed, to change out of her still-not-clean clothes, oh _Spirits_ she has a lot to do—only to get stopped again with a hand on her wrist.

“Just handle yourself well, yes? In a manner befitting a Northuldra,” the older woman says, and the familiar sternness is back in her voice again.

“Of course,” Maren nods, and makes her escape.

...

She stands at the edge of the shore, in the spot where she’s waited enough times that it feels like the sand should have a permanent indentation.

Alright, maybe Elsa has only come to the Forest a few times since her eventful first visit (five, to be exact), but each time, Maren has been sent, or rather volunteered, to welcome her. Even though Elsa is punctual to the point of absurdity, Maren can't resist coming early. Not when she gets to see that lone figure appear on the horizon, stunning against the backdrop of the sky she gave back to her people. Not when she gets to see Elsa’s hair windblown and untamed. Not when she has the chance to imagine that, as she rides near, the queen’s eyes are focused on  _ her _ , as well.

This time is no different. Maren can feel the whole world fade, her senses narrowing to a goddess on a horse and her own erratic heartbeat.

“Maren,” Elsa smiles as she dismounts, and Maren’s sure that her name has never sounded better. She steps forward, wondering what kind of greeting is acceptable—it’s only been two weeks, but Elsa has been invading her brain for every second of it. In the end, she takes Elsa’s cool hand and squeezes it, hoping her thoughts aren’t too visible on her face. 

They walk back to camp hand in hand, much to Maren’s delight. She asks Elsa about the Arendellian festival happening tomorrow, and Elsa is only too happy to tell her about it.

“Oh, and the food is just wonderful! Do you remember the chocolate I brought once?” Maren nods. Truthfully, it was a little too sweet for her taste, and her favorite part of it all had really been Elsa’s own reaction to trying what she’d brought. “There’s a whole store of it,” Elsa confides, eyes shining. She bumps her shoulder against Maren’s. “I’m so excited to show you around!” Maren can’t help but smile at her childlike enthusiasm.

But then they reach the camp, and Elsa turns into someone else as easily as she transforms the Nokk into ice. “Your Majesty,” Yelena bows, and Elsa curtsies in return. Suddenly she is the queen, polite and friendly, greeting nearly every villager by name (even the ones she only met the first time, when she was still practically dead on her feet). Yet there’s a presence about her, something that keeps the normally affectionate and casual Northuldra at a slight distance. Maren wonders once again why it’s her that Elsa relaxes around, her that gets to brush aside formalities, and tries not to think of the reason she’d  _ like _ it to be.

While Elsa leaves to have a short discussion with Yelena, Maren sets up a fire for the rabbit that she caught this morning. She’s just gotten a blaze going when a hand settles on her shoulder. 

“If you’re trying to seduce her with your cooking, I can tell you right now that you’re doomed.” Ryder plops down next to her and offers a sly grin.

Maren sighs. She’s still not sure how Ryder manages to see right through her, but dozens of failed surprises over the years have taught her that there’s no use trying to conceal anything.

“I’m doomed anyway,” she answers, poking at the fire. Ryder is silent at first, leaning back and crossing his legs.

“She’s coming to stay,” he says finally. “That means something.”

“Not because of me,” Maren counters.

“Maybe not,” Ryder says, and his eyes flicker to something behind her. Maren turns, and it’s Elsa making her way over. “But her future home is here, and you’re the only person she seems ready to welcome into it.” He stands to depart, passing Elsa on the way and giving her a  _ very _ casual pat on the back. The queen nearly stumbles, and turns to look at him inquisitively, but Ryder is already gone. Maren catches her eye and stifles a laugh. Her brother is either extremely perceptive or extremely oblivious, with very little in-between.

“Hello again,” Elsa murmurs, somehow adopting a regal position on the log next from her. She’s practically glowing in the firelight. Maren is reminded of the first time they met, and the way her chest tightened whenever Elsa smiled.

“Hey,” Maren replies. “You haven’t eaten yet, right?” She gestures to the rabbit in invitation.

“No,” Elsa says, “but it smells delicious.”

Later, they lie awake only a few feet apart, talking and talking. Elsa asks about her life in the Mist, and her family, and Maren makes her laugh with a tale about how she'd gotten Yelena’s favorite cloak inextricably tangled up in the antlers of a runaway reindeer. Maren wants to know about other nations and scientific inventions and stars; her last series of questions prompts Elsa to take them outside. Maren wraps herself up in furs while the other woman stands comfortably in a dress, tracing out the constellations in shimmering beads of ice. When they return to the tent Elsa tells her story after story of the different starry figures, and they only fall asleep out of mutual exhaustion, late into the night.

Maybe she has a chance, Maren thinks, when she opens her eyes to see that pale, peaceful face. Maybe.

...

All right, so maybe she doesn’t  _ need  _ to go to the Forest as often as she does.

She reasons to Anna that she’s helping the tribe set up for her arrival. She reasons to herself that she’s helping Anna transition, giving her time to manage affairs on her own every now and then. Her sister has been shadowing her and getting a crash course in just about everything for the past month and a half, and already Elsa can see that she is the rightful heir. 

Which means, as the spare, that Elsa has more time to do what she wants. And most of the time, what she wants is to see Maren.

She knows it’s a bad idea to do anything when her life is just about to uproot itself. She knows that while Maren is kind to her, taking the time to remember her favorite places in the woods, she’s also kind to everyone—in a way that makes Elsa wonder at how she can be such a fearsome warrior. She knows that any lingering glances from those beautiful brown eyes are for the same reasons that everyone else stares: she’s an invader, and royalty, and has ice powers to boot. 

But every time she leaves Arendelle to cross the sea, Honeymaren is there to welcome her on the opposite shore. And when she's speeding toward her (pushing Nokk just a little faster than she needs to), she can imagine that Maren isn't there to welcome the Queen, but Elsa.

Just Elsa.

And lately, she's been wondering just how much of it really is her imagination. She’d hardly been able to get away from managing the festival after four of the food stall vendors accused each other of theft. (The culprit was eventually found to be Olaf, who had been progressing through his education so quickly that he would sometimes literally absorb things into his snowy body. Elsa strongly suspected that Gale had a hand in it too, since Olaf had claimed to be chasing a rare butterfly species, but the wind spirit had conveniently disappeared afterward.) With all of the chaos, she only managed to steal away for a few minutes, but the smile that Maren threw her when she appeared was so radiant that it lingered in her mind ever since. Maybe today is the day to say something. She'll be moving to the Forest in only a few more weeks anyway, and she can't deny her heart anymore. Why wait?

Of course, Maren is waiting at the shore for her. But something seems off about her stance; she's stiff, hands clasped behind her back. Perhaps she's injured herself, Elsa thinks worriedly. But then Maren bows as she dismounts, not a mocking one but a real, formal bow, and Elsa is so shocked by the action that for the first time in her life, she doesn't curtsy in response. 

“Your Majesty,” Maren says. Her voice is as soft and warm as ever, but it can't make up for the words themselves, which thud into her ears with dreadful finality. Elsa turns back to Nokk, and takes a little longer than usual to melt him to give herself the time to fix her dismayed expression.

“Maren,” she responds evenly. “How are you?” 

“Great,” Maren smiles, and Elsa’s heart lurches involuntarily. “How is Arendelle?”

_ Arendelle _ . 

_ Arendelle, not you.  _

The implication is clear. So Elsa tucks away the hope of being more than a title, the hope she'd hardly realized had planted roots so deep in her heart, and answers with all the good breeding that twenty goddamn years stuck in a room with etiquette books has taught her.

And she's right to bury that hope, she finds out. She’s talking to Ryder, conveying a question that Kristoff has been simply  _ dying  _ to ask about antler maintenance. His burly frame hides her from the source of the voices.

“You seem to be pretty close with the Queen,” a woman comments, and Elsa immediately tunes out Ryder’s tangent on trimmers to listen in.

“We've talked a few times,” Maren answers. Elsa can't tell if the nonchalance in her voice is real or not.

“I don't know what I would do in your position; Gale is hard enough to get to know and we don’t even have to make conversation! Although half the trouble is just finding them.”

“Long as I wasn't the one assigned to make nice with the Nokk, I could've lived with it. The idea of horse made of liquid just scares me,” a third voice chimes in, and Elsa’s stomach drops like a stone.  _ Assigned? _

“Well, you can hardly go near a normal flesh-and-blood reindeer without running away,” the first person laughs. “Still, I bet your assignment is about as far from normal as Nokk from a reindeer, right Maren?”

Elsa strains forward at Maren’s hesitation, but the quiet doesn't last for long. “Absolutely.”

...

It hurts a little not to be able to say her name anymore. 

_ Elsa _ . It suits her, more than any other title she wears. The Queen is unassailable, like a sculpture of ice, formidable in her perfection. The fifth spirit is closer, but it isn't quite her either—it isn’t all of her. Elsa is someone more special than all her grace and the power could imply. She's also funny, and awkward, and genuine and thoughtful and worst of all, off limits.

_ “And we should harvest some more cloudberries,” Maren adds. Maybe she’s getting a tad overexcited, but it’s a celebration of the fifth spirit’s homecoming. Excitement is appropriate. “Elsa loves those. She-” _

_ “Elsa?” Yelena asks, arching a gray brow, and Maren stops cold in her tracks. The festival is in full swing all around them, but one glance at her aunt’s face and she’s no longer in the mood to celebrate. _

_ “W-we’ve gotten close,” she tries, but the chief is already shaking her head. _

_ “No, Maren. You’ve become infatuated. I should have noticed earlier, what with those late-night fireside talks and nature rides you kept planning.” _

_ “I…” she trails off, knowing nothing she can say will help her case. _

_ “I see your heart now, child, but I can only guess at hers,” Yelena says, and there’s no censure in her voice, but no forgiveness, either. “I know better than to think you'll stay away entirely, and that would do us no good with the Queen in any case. But we simply cannot afford to risk the consequences of an unwanted, one-sided romance, especially with their more...conservative ways. This ruler of Arendelle is far more forgiving than the last, but we are also far more vulnerable to her caprice.” _

_ “She would never-” Maren starts, anger rising at the implication against Elsa. _

_ “That’s what my uncle would have said about her grandfather,” Yelena cuts her off harshly. Maren glares back, unwilling to concede, and Yelena softens just a bit. “Of course I hope for the best, and I see every reason to expect it. When she is in the Forest, the Spirits will at last be reconciled, and we will have both their strength and the strength of a sisterly bond on which to ground our faith in Arendelle. Then, you are free to do as you like. But for now, she is the Queen to you unless she directs you otherwise. Do you understand?” _

And although she resents it, she does understand, because Yelena is right: Maren can't afford to be wrong. Besides, Anna’s coronation is only a few more weeks away. She can control herself, she thinks (even though her mind calls up a memory of their first stargazing trip, and the way Elsa’s lips looked so perfect in the moonlight that Maren had to excuse herself to check on her reindeer). She can resist this magnetic pull for that long, she promises herself (even though just the sight of Elsa emerging from a clearing, blue eyes finding hers immediately, is enough to make her breath hitch).

“Your Majesty.” she nods, trying to treat the title with the respect it deserves. “Shall we?” Her fingers are already itching to reach out, and she clenches them into a fist instead. Elsa smiles back at her, but it doesn't reach the rest of her face. The expression is instead just a bit too knowing, and a bit of something else Maren can't quite place. 

“Honeymaren,” she greets, her voice hard. Without another word, she walks away determinedly.

_ Honeymaren. _ Well then. Her attempts at becoming friends (or more) have apparently been obvious enough for the other woman to catch on. And clearly, Maren’s advances aren't welcome, although she’d never held much hope to the contrary. But Elsa didn't just seem awkward; she seemed...cold. 

Her hands go numb with dread. _Conservative ways_ , Yelena had said. She remembers the books that are being painstakingly translated by the team of Northuldran and Arendellian scholars. More specifically, she remembers one book and one chapter in particular: the history of Arendelle, and the protests in King Runeard’s time to legalize marriage that wasn’t between a man and a woman.  _ A lot of things can change in thirty years _ , she thinks. But Arendellians still looked down on magic—why would they have changed their views on anything else?

And with a spark of insight, she’s sure that it was disgust that she saw in Elsa’s eyes.

...

Their walk is silent and stiff, but Elsa can’t find the will to start a conversation.

“You seem to have something on your mind,” Maren observes quietly, almost too softly to hear over the leaves crunching beneath their feet. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Elsa answers, and she can hear the slight bite in her voice. “Everything is perfectly  _ normal _ .” Maren frowns and tries to catch her eye, but she strides forward and keeps her gaze firmly on the trees.

Elsa can be oblivious sometimes, but she isn’t a fool. She knows what it means, that mad flutter in her heart whenever those golden-brown eyes fix on her. But clearly, she’d been foolish to think that Maren could ever see her as someone other than a freak—and even more foolish besides, because it’s only now as the quiet devastation sets in that she realizes just how far she’s fallen.

_ Assigned. _ And it’s not even Maren’s fault, truly, for just doing her job. She can’t help being so charming and warm.  Or...Gods, maybe she can. Hans could, anyway. Maybe she sensed the flutter, cultivated it. Maybe it was easy for Maren to break down Elsa’s walls and wrap her around her little finger-

“You know,” the words burst out, as calmly and coolly as she can manage, “You don’t have to escort me to the beach . I’ll find my own way next time.” And then she’s past the point of trying, she just wants to be gone, to castiagate herself alone and in peace. The waves turn to ice under her feet as she walks toward Nokk, never once looking back at the golden-eyed woman behind her.

...

The queen doesn't return for thirteen days, and Maren is quietly miserable for every single one. 

As the fourteenth day dawns, Yelena receives a note requesting to meet with their seamstresses, something to do with Princess Anna wanting to incorporate Northuldran designs into her wedding gown. Maren tries to suppress the fruitless eagerness that springs to life the moment she hears of it.

“I'm hopeless,” she tells the top of Ryder’s head, which is all she can see over Cloud’s furry head. “I've got to kick this before she moves here and I see her every day.”

“You had it bad from day one,” the reindeer replies matter-of-factly, turning to look at her. “No surprise it's getting worse.”

“Cut it out, Ry,” she sighs, and her brother stops holding Cloud’s jaw to move over to her.

“Listen,” he says gently, in his normal voice. “I’m sorry that this happened. But if she's going to live here, she would have found out about our views anyway. And you're not at fault because you didn't know. Focus now on how you can fix this, or at least make sure she doesn't think badly of the tribe. Explain that there are cultural differences, or do ...I don't know. Something.”

“The next right thing?” Maren asks, the familiar words coming back to her mind.

“The Northuldran way,” Ryder confirms with a wry grin, and she knows they're both remembering the endless repetition of the phrase in their youth, the elders’ attempt to get the pair of them to channel their impulsiveness productively.

“Okay,” she says, resigned but determined. “Yeah. The next right thing. Now what the  _ hell _ is that?”

..,

Northuldra’s four best seamstresses are nearly as helpful as they are eager, and Elsa quickly loses her irritation at the turn of fortune that led her to be back at the Forest and without her sister, the person who was initially the reason behind the visit.

It isn't Anna’s fault that she's sick, and Elsa is the one designing the dress, so it makes sense for her to keep the appointment—especially with her sister feeling so frantic about having everything done in time for the wedding. And when Anna thought of the idea, they were both so excited that Elsa had momentarily forgotten that she was avoiding the Northuldra. Or just one Northuldran in particular.

It's not that she's planning to stay away forever. Even knowing that Honeymaren could show up at any minute doesn't dampen the sense of wonderful familiarity when she's here, or the indisputable fact that this place is a Spirit’s home. But she also needs time to get that woman out of her mind, because even if Honeymaren didn't play her like a fool, she certainly doesn't reciprocate the feelings that Elsa is desperately trying to get rid of.

But she comes away from the meeting with several sketches and without a glimpse of those gorgeous brown eyes. She's stayed a little longer than she intended, and she’s so hungry that she wants to accept the offer to stay for dinner, but for the thought of her sister waiting across the fjord, sick in bed and fretting over her dress. So Elsa declines and departs (unaccompanied) for the shore.

And for the second time that day, her love for Anna totally screws her over. She's nearly there, wistfully imagining the day that she'll never have to leave, when a figure emerges into view. Of course—of  _ course _ — it's the one that she’s learned to recognize, and worse, has certainly learned to recognize her in return from a considerable distance away. Elsa determinedly dismisses the idea of changing her direction, although with every step closer she wants to reverse the decision.

“Your Majesty,” Maren bows even deeper than before, and Elsa wants to scream. Afraid that she might actually do so if she opens her mouth, she merely curtsies in reply. They stand in silence for a few seconds, and just as Elsa is about to brush past her Maren speaks up again.

“I took a double shift today,” she says, leveling her with a steady look. Elsa frowns slightly back at her, and Maren takes this as a prompt to continue. “I thought you might want some space.”

“Excuse me?”  _ As if trying to manipulate her was something that could be remedied after the fact. _

“Look, I'm sorry.” Maren takes a step forward, freezing when Elsa moves back in tandem. “I know that you know,” she says desperately. “And I'm not going to...push you, anymore. But I hope this won't make you view the tribe or your decision to come here any differently.” 

“Of course not,” Elsa answers shortly, clutching her last threads of control around her like a cloak. “I won't make the mistake of misdirecting my anger.”

“Anger?” Honeymaren repeats, suddenly looking much more unsure of herself.

“Yes, anger!” she snaps at last, striding forward. “You must have been so proud of yourself,” she seethes. “Working out why Hans couldn't get to me. Realizing just how to conduct your little assignment.” She moves past Honeymaren before the tears can start to fall.

“Elsa-” a voice says quietly from behind her.

“Don't.” She whirls around and feels the temperature drop. Maren is in the same position, still as a statue. “Don't you dare,” she says to Maren’s back, and walks away as quickly as she can. She hears the faint crunching of leaves as she swings onto Nokk’s back, and knows that those damn brown eyes are watching her head out to sea.

Yelena receives a note a day after the abdication informing her that the now ex-queen will be delaying her move to the Forest an extra six weeks, until after Anna’s honeymoon.

...

Maren shuffles through the ballroom, barely avoiding tripping in the crowd and wondering how the hordes of women in floor-length dresses and spiky shoes manage it. She's sure that the amount of people in the castle tonight outnumbers the Northuldran population. Which makes sense for the double occasion of a coronation and a wedding, but it’s a little ridiculous that she's probably going to take a minute just to move the last twenty feet.

“There you are,” Ryder exclaims, as Maren stumbles toward him after nearly snagging her dress. He thrusts a cracker with some unidentifiable brown paste at her. “You've got to try this, Mare.” She eyes it dubiously, shrugs, and puts it in her mouth. 

“Well?” Ryder says, but Maren doesn't taste a thing. Her eyes are suddenly latched onto a figure in a gorgeous blue dress, whirling effortlessly past them in the arms of some foreign dignitary. “You've got to be kidding me,” Ryder rolls his eyes, but slings a consoling arm around her shoulder.

“Hey guys,” a voice says, and Kristoff sidles towards their corner of the room. Maren stifles a laugh watching him try to fold his bulky frame into something inconspicuous. 

“Are you hiding?” she asks playfully. Kristoff tugs at his tie and grimaces.

“Trying to,” he sighs. “Don't get me wrong, I'm super happy to be Anna’s husband, but getting married to a queen is…”

“A royal pain?” Ryder finishes with a grin, and yelps when Maren smacks his shoulder. Kristoff chuckles.

“Yeah. I have no idea how I'm supposed to be a King, honestly,” he tells Maren, as Ryder gleefully accepts two more crackers from a nearby server. “Obviously I'm doomed on the diplomacy side. I thought I would enjoy the more domestic policy stuff, and I do, but there are so many  _ details _ .” Maren nods sympathetically, thinking of the enormous tome on Arendellian law awaiting her in her goahti.

“I mean, I can’t even handle the details of this wedding!” Kristoff continues, running his hand through his hair in frustration and ruining its neat style. “The locals have given us so many gifts, and I know the giant barrel of mead is from Oaken and his husband but I can’t remember if-”

“What?” Maren says. Kristoff cuts himself off abruptly and eyes her, confused. “Did you say that Oaken has a husband?”

“Yeah,” Kristoff answers slowly. “Is that a problem?”

“Isn't that a problem here?” Ryder reappears to ask, which is lucky because Maren is currently speechless. 

“Maybe twenty years ago, it was, but now it's totally normalized. Elsa passed a whole series of anti-discriminatory laws last year. But I thought the Northuldra were pretty liberal about that sort of thing.” He looks slightly suspicious as he says it.

“We are,” Ryder confirms quickly. Maren nods vaguely, feeling as unbalanced as if she were wearing high heels after all.

If Elsa didn't care about that, then why had she been so furious? It couldn't have just been because of Maren’s assignment to become friends with her. She had remained perfectly civil toward Yelena, as far as Maren knew, and Yelena was the one who gave the order. It must be something else, something to do with-

“Who is Hans?” Maren asks suddenly.

Kristoff frowns. “He’s Anna’s ex. Why?” Ryder gives her a warning glance, and Maren fumbles with her next question. 

“I just heard that he had something to do with…”

“Us getting together?” Kristoff supplies, and Maren nods as if she isn't totally lost. “You could say that,” he snorts. “He tried to seduce Anna and kill Elsa for the throne after her coronation.”  There's a shocked silence at his casual revelation.

Maren's thoughts click into place, and she breaks it. “I have to go,” she realizes. Her head is spinning, and not everything makes sense, but she knows she has to find Elsa.

Without another word, she turns and maneuvers her way back toward the center of the room. Weaving around the crowd of people at the edge of the dancing space and drawing more than a few dirty looks, she searches for a glimpse of that unmistakable platinum blonde hair. At last, she sees a flash of it at the edge of the room, and hastily makes her way over.

Elsa facing away from her, talking with her sister, and Maren’s breath catches looking at the pale expanse of her back. Her hair is mostly down, with a braid sweeping across to keep it somewhat in place. She’s gesturing animatedly, but Anna’s resulting laugh dies abruptly when she spots Maren coming closer. She hurriedly taps her sister’s shoulder and whispers something in her ear. By the time Maren reaches them, Elsa has disappeared through the nearby set of double doors and Anna is standing quite resolutely in place, waiting.

It's incredible, how a tiny woman in a flowery white dress can be so very scary.

“Honeymaren,” Anna says, leveling her with an absolutely terrifying smile.

“Your Majesty,” she replies. Spirits, she feels like such an idiot when she bows. She hesitates, and decides to be direct. “Might I ask to see Princess Elsa?” she indicates the doors.

“Of course!” Anna answers, maintaining her sunny grin.  _ Huh.  _ But when Maren makes to move past her, she steps in the same direction, putting them inches from each other. “Of course you may ask. Ask away!” she says sweetly.

_ Oh boy. _ Maren glances around, and realizes that a cluster of guards are blocking their view from the rest of a party. Feeling as though she's stepping into a trap, Maren starts, “May I-”

“ _ No,” _ Anna hisses, stepping even closer, until all Maren can see when she looks down are two furious blue-green eyes. “ _ You may not _ .” She jabs a finger into Maren’s chest.

“Please,” Maren tries. “There's been a misunderstanding-”

“I don't give a shit about your pathetic lies,” Anna growls, and Maren actively stops herself from flinching. “I would never have invited you in the first place if Elsa hadn’t just told me this morning. But you are  _ not _ ruining this night for me, and you are  _ not  _ getting  _ anywhere  _ near my sister today.” 

“I adore her,” Maren blurts, throwing caution to the wind. The eyes in front of her widen for a moment, and she seizes her opportunity. “Look, just give me two minutes now, and I promise you I won't even speak to her without her permission, even when she's moved to the Forest. Please.”

“Fine,” Anna glares after a long pause, and takes the tiniest step back. “But if she chooses to throw you off the balcony, I promise you in return that no one will ever find the body.”

Maren gulps, frozen in place.

“Well? I’m counting,” Anna says grimly, and she's jolted into action. 

A lone woman leans against the railing of the balcony to watch the ships in the dock begin to sail out, preparing for their upcoming fireworks display. As soon as she hears the creak of the door, she spins around, and Maren holds her hands up in surrender.

“What could you possibly want with me?” Elsa demands, looking hurt and angry and impossibly beautiful.

“It’s important enough that your sister let me through,” Maren says, and Elsa turns away pointedly. 

“You think that I was told to be friends with you, and you're right.” Elsa’s back stiffens slightly. “Four others along with me were assigned to work on diplomatic relations with a Spirit—to check in on them, make sure they were happy.” She takes a deep breath, and hopes harder than she ever has that she's right. “But I messed it up, because you were never just a friend to me.”

“Stop,” Elsa says in a low voice, unmoving.

“I like you, Elsa. I really, really like you.”

“Stop.”

“I think you're funny and smart and caring and  _ gorgeous _ . You're like no one I've ever met before” she says, her words rushing out like the water from that broken dam, and she’s sure she hears a strangled sob in response.

“I thought you thought it was wrong,” Maren presses on. “Two women like us. I thought there was no way you felt the same-”

“How can I trust you?!” Elsa turns, only to flatten herself back against the railing when she sees that Maren is only a few feet away. “How can I believe anything you say?” But there's the slightest bit of hope in her eyes, and Maren takes a step forward, and another.

“Believe what I do,” Maren insists, reaching out to cup that pale face in her hands. A burst of ice covers the railings, but Elsa doesn't move from her hold. “I want to kiss you more than anything, but I won't do it until you say yes.” She moves even closer, until she can feel the heat radiating from the Ice Spirit’s body. 

“Let me show you how I feel. Say yes.” Elsa’s eyes flutter closed, and when she opens them her expression is vulnerable. Hungry. They stare at each other for an interminable moment before her midnight gaze travels to Maren’s lips. “Elsa,” Maren breathes, almost unconsciously.

The doors bang open. “Alright,” Anna’s voice carries through them, and Maren drops her hands like they've been burnt. And they could well have been, judging by the blush flaming on Elsa’s cheeks. “Honeymaren, you’d better make good on that promise and get your ass  _ right- _ ” she stops dead in her tracks, eyes flickering between the two of them. 

“Another two minutes?” Maren asks the queen hopefully, and Elsa startles her by bursting into laughter.

“I'll set the time limit now, Anna,” she says lightly. “But thank you.” They exchange glances, a quick silent conversation that Maren tries and fails to follow.

“Okay,” Anna says finally. “I've got to finish dancing with the rest of the Southern Isles’ princes anyway.” She delivers a mock salute to Elsa along with a warning look to Maren, and closes the doors behind her.

“What did you promise her?” Elsa wonders, the corners of her mouth curling up.

“That I'd never try to talk to you again if she let me through,” Maren admits. 

“Never?”

“Unless you wanted me to, of course.” Elsa ponders this for a moment. “Do you?” Maren asks tentatively, placing her hand on a pale forearm. “Want me t-”

“Yes.” And then Elsa is bending down slightly to close the distance between their lips. Maren surges forward with a rush of euphoria, drinking her in. Elsa’s fingers tug at the loops of fabric at her waist and pull her closer even as they push against the railing. Maren’s own hands take the opportunity to wind their way through blonde locks that are just as silky as she imagined. One of them makes a needy sound and it spurs them both on, until Maren finally has to break the contact to breathe. Giddy laughter swells up inside her, and Elsa smiles in response, wider and more freely than Maren has ever seen.

“I have to stay another week in Arendelle during the honeymoon,” Elsa informs her then, sounding remarkably steady despite the kisses Maren is peppering along her jaw. “Anna had this nasty cold a few weeks ago, and it's just circulated back to our– _ her  _ chief of staff.  _ Maren _ ,” she sighs as Maren’s tongue sweeps over a spot by her ear, and Maren grins and sucks on it in victory. 

“Anyway, since I never— oh, _ there— _ showed you around, do you want to stay here for a few days?”

“Wait, what?” Maren asks, diverting her attention from Elsa’s collarbone. “Isn't that...a breach of propriety, or something?”

“Screw propriety,” Elsa grins at Maren’s shocked expression. “No one cares about it if you're not a young unmarried queen with a frightening abnormality, and now I'm just a young unmarried spirit-princess.”

“A princess?” Maren echoes. She hadn't really processed what Elsa's abdication meant.

“Yep. Her Highness, Princess Elsa of Arendelle,” Elsa confirms, with the slightest roll of her eyes.

“I prefer just Elsa,” Maren whispers, and Elsa beams back at her, twining her arms around Maren’s waist.

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> might do a follow-up chapter because I never actually wrote the idea that I had when I heard the song lol but that's all for now :)


End file.
